


I didn't mean to fall (in love)

by j520j



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 60's, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 11:10:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19904782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j520j/pseuds/j520j
Summary: This fic is set in 1967, shortly after Aziraphale gave Crowley holy water and said that the demon "was going too fast" for him.





	I didn't mean to fall (in love)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Eu não queria cair (de amores)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19904737) by [j520j](https://archiveofourown.org/users/j520j/pseuds/j520j). 



> English is not my native language - if you notice any grammatical atrocities, please feel free to say it.

It was only three PM when Aziraphale decided to close his bookstore. Outraged customers protested as they were expelled from the establishment, warning that they would never set foot in that store again. _I hope so!_ thought the angel, smiling as he kicked all those hippies out of his establishment.

“Humans today! Increasingly bold and dressing badly!” the bookseller wrinkled his nose. “And smelling bad! What's the matter with them? Today England has hot water everywhere!”

The angel commented on the expansion of sanitation in the country as if talking about the launch of a satellite in space. For him, it was still the best human invention after literature. For those who spent six thousand years living among human citadels with odors of all sorts, having the satisfaction of walking on a street that was not littered with shit was one of the reasons he loved this world even more.

Sighing with pleasure, Aziraphale went upstairs to the shop, where his personal rooms were, to make tea and read a new book. He picked up a selection of Indian herbs (he definitely hated the modern tea bags!), put them in a grinder, and then threw them into the hot water. While waiting for the infusion to end, he went to his huge bookshelf of unread books (the ones he even refused to display in the shop) and picked one up at random.

"John Buchan's 39 Steps, hmmm, wasn't this book that was made into a movie a few years ago?" the bookseller blew the dust that had accumulated on the cover. “I’m about to read this book for a long time!”

The angel always tried to keep up with human literary production, but it was almost impossible. Even though he had no need for sleep, and could read for twenty-four hours for several days, there were still thousands of fascinating titles he had not yet had a chance to read. And this relieved him. After all, how tedious would be life for an immortal being to have nothing new to read?

The tea was ready, the armchair was comfortable, the glasses were on his face (not that the angel needed them, but he had gotten used to them) and Aziraphale began to read. The book was a thriller set before the Great War (today, World War I) whose protagonist was the adventurer Richard Hannay, a sort of James Bond from Edwardian Era. It was far from the best thing the angel had ever read, but it was a good pastime.

But before halfway, Aziraphale closed the book and replaced it with a bookmark. No more time to finish it. For no apparent reason, the angel felt melancholy.

He removed his glasses and went to the bathroom to wash his face. He looked at his own face in the mirror and remembered the author's description of the hero Hannay: "stiff upper lip." It was interesting how British heroes, especially those who took part in war stories, were always tough, serious and phlegmatic guys. Yes, British phlegm was already known all over the world and this was a trait they were proud of.

Thinking about it made Aziraphale feel even more melancholy.

"I'm too soft," he murmured, still staring at his own face in the mirror.

Interestingly, most humans who first knew Aziraphale immediately thought he was English. The angel always had this appearance at least four thousand years before England even existed. Even before the very lineage of white-skinned humans with blonde hair appeared in the Caucasus. Why, Britain was not even an island when he first landed his feet on Earth.

But he had a special fondness for that land. Since the meeting with the Welsh King Arthur, becoming a knight in his service in the sixth century, he had an attachment to that humid climate and such peculiar people. He witnessed the Anglo-Saxon invasion, the Norman rule, the Hundred Years War, the War of the Roses, the escape of the North American settlers, the two industrial revolutions and, finally, the two great wars. He did his best, within the limits that an angel could do, to protect England, and the excuse he always used was, "Because my book store is there!"

But there was another reason. A strong enough that he traded delicious Mediterranean cuisine for pea soup and mutton guts. And the reason was ...

"Aziraphale!" a voice came from downstairs. "Are you there? I brought you something!”

Hearing the voice, the angel stiffened so abruptly that he slammed his elbow into the bathroom door. He let out an exclamation of pain that was barely followed by a F-word.

"Angel?!" now the voice seemed to be more concerned. “Did you scream? What happened?!"

“Nnnhhhggg ... nothing ... ouch! It was nothing!"

In the next instant, a tall man dressed in black with mop-top cut red hair appeared before the angel. He removed his sunglasses and displayed two reptilian eyes.

It was Crowley, the demon. And his best friend.

“How nothing?! Are you... are you hurt? ”

“Uh… I told you, it was nothing. I ... I just knocked my elbow on the door. ”

“Wow, that hurts! Like you get an electric shock all over your body!” the demon scowled.

“Yeah… sort of.” Aziraphale still stroked his injured elbow and he realized, with displeasure, that a small red spot was forming on the fabric of his cream shirt.

"Shit, you're hurt!" the demon gently held his arm to examine the damage. "You're _bleeding!_ "

"It was nothing, Crowley." the angel tried to keep his voice steady. “I keep beating myself on the shelves and tables on the store. I'm a little clumsy, as you already know!”

"Still, I'd better have a look."

Before Aziraphale could protest, the redhead pulled him into the living room and made him sit in the armchair. He fetched a towel and some water. Gently, he unbuttoned the angel’s shirt sleeve and exposed his injured elbow.

"D-don't w-worry, Cr-crowley." the angel's voice was now failing. "I ... I could treat this wound with a s-simple miracle."

"I know you've been getting rude letters from your superiors for using too many miracles, angel," said the demon, pressing the damp towel into the wound. “By the way, sorry for my primitive method of healing! But you know how it is! Demonic miracles do not include wound healing. Hmmm, but I can do this!”

Crowley blew, and the red bloodstain on Aziraphale's shirt vanished.

“Oh, thanks!” this made the blonde even more happy than the relief of the pain in his elbow.

The demon gave him a smile and kept the towel pressed to the wound. They were silent for a moment, the demon always watching the angel's arm and Aziraphale trying to contain an emotion that rose from his stomach to his throat. They were so close that the blonde could smell Crowley's scent.

"Uh ... you ... can always mix well with the local people!" the angel said, trying to say something to distract himself. "This hairstyle of yours is, hmm, a lot used today by young people!"

"Ah yes! The kids have been changing the look a lot lately. I mean, humans always like to invent fashion, but in recent years things have been going fast. ”

"Yes, yes, uh, fast ... too much."

Crowley looked up for a moment, a mocking expression on his face, and then lowered his face again. The angel pretended that he didn’t understand what the devil was referring to.

"There!" said Crowley, removing the towel. "At least it stopped bleeding."

“Thank you.” Aziraphale decided to leave his sleeve up so that he wouldn't get his shirt dirty again. "Oh, what do you want to talk to me, Crowley?"

"Ah yes! I came to bring you a gift. ”

"Gift? But it's not my birthday. ”

"Of course not! You don't have a b-day! ”

"Oh, yes ..."

“Here!” the red-haired man held out a thin square package to the angel. "In thanks for you getting me, huh, you know ...‘ that ’!"

Wide-eyed, the angel nodded, preferring not to speak the word. From the shape of the package he deduced that he had just won an LP. But he was surprised when he saw whose LP it was.

“Beatles?” the angel made an expression of someone trying to disguise the fact that he didn't like the gift. “Uh… thanks, Crowley. Thank you so much. But, well, rock is not my favorite style of music. ”

"Ah, but this one is different!" the demon snatched the LP from Aziraphale. “This one has some songs that I think you'll enjoy! There is violin, there is cello, there are harps ... a very crazy thing! Pure art! Can't you imagine just by the cover?”

“It looks like some kind of vaudeville show mixed with circus performance and military band.”

“It's close, my angel! Seriously, you have to listen to this album! You will enjoy it a lot! Very much so!”

“Oh, ok, I will. Thank you, Crowley. ”

"The least I could do, since you didn't accept my thanks for ...‘ that ’!"

"I ... I prefer you not to thank me for ‘that’." heat rose to Aziraphale's cheeks, turning them red. He didn't know if it was irritation to remember that he gave Crowley ‘that’ or the fact that the demon called him _my angel_.

"It's ok! See you around!"

"Yeah, see you... see you later!"

The demon descended the stairs and stalked out of the store with his waddling gait. As if he knew the angel was still watching him, he suddenly turned, lowered his sunglasses, and winked. If it were possible, Aziraphale's cheeks would have turned even redder.

"I'm too soft ..." was the bookseller's realization of himself, hugging the Sgt Peppers LP.


End file.
